


second chances

by dorenamryn



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lotor (Voltron)-centric, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Season/Series 06, Redemption, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-24 09:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14952323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorenamryn/pseuds/dorenamryn
Summary: After the turbulent events of the season finale, Lotor is given a second chance to make things better than the first time around.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so i watched s6 yesterday and was pretty upset with how they handled lotor so here's my contribution. if you don't like lotor redemption fics then... don't read i guess? sorry if it's a bit messy. you can find me on tumblr [here](http://skywclkrs.tumblr.com/) :)

He was spinning. That’s all Lotor felt at first. Flashes— The betrayal in Allura’s eyes as he was slammed into the ground, the echo of her scream in the quintessence field, _we can't just leave him_ —

His eyes slammed shut and a course yell broke from his throat. It was overwhelming; he felt the power coursing through his veins but he couldn't control it, it felt more as if it was the power that was controlling him. He’d never wanted to hurt her. But her words, when she’d said that he was just like his father— even the thought of the man’s cursed name tasted like bile in his mouth— he’d snapped, completely and utterly. It had been the final straw, the culmination of thousands of years of self-hatred and pent-up anger, because _no matter how hard he’d tried_ it seemed like he couldn’t escape Zarkon’s shadow.

It was all his fault. He’d ruined everything. The power that had gripped him a moment ago did not bring him what he thought it would; all it did was make him feel empty.

His eyes opened, and the first thing he noticed was that the quintessence field was gone. The bright light that had enveloped him and his ship was nowhere to be seen. His field of view was comprised of asteroids, broken chunks of rock, all orbiting— _Oh, no_. He recognized this place. There was no question about it; he knew that there was only one place in the universe where space and gravity were so heavily distorted. He was in the Quantum Abyss.

As the realization hit him with full force, he could feel the gravity well beginning to pull him in, slowly, at first, and then faster and faster, until the ship was shaking and his head was throbbing with the weight of it.

He shouted again, knowing that the only way he has a chance of escape was if he split up the ships so that perhaps the force of the separation could propel him away from his impending doom. With great effort, he reached for the lever, and with one final pull, his monstrous creation fell apart. Just like he hoped, his ship was now hurtling away from the centre of the gravity well. The other two starships— his pride and joy— sailed into towards the dark star, and soon he lost sight of them, knowing for a fact that they were no more. For a moment, he was frozen with relief, but then the adrenaline kicked in and he launched the thrusters, sending him further and further away from what would have been his death.

However, his relief was short-lived, as the Abyss seemingly hoped for him to perish. A boulder ripped through the hull of the ship, and even the quintessence-infused metal was too weak to fully stop it. He tried to steer, praying beyond hope that the nav computer still functioned after the hit, but it was right then that he saw the dark star behind him pulsating with power, and he knew. The first wave hit him a moment later, and he was forced to shut his eyes as the ship faded to a searing white.

Of course, he knew about the time and space anomalies that pervaded the Abyss. It was a well-known fact that the neighbouring regions were sparsely settled for fear of the anomaly. And yet, he was still unprepared for when he opened his eyes.

It was her. In the flesh, just like he remembered from the pictures, not the abomination that he now knew she’d become. Treacherous tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he found himself unable to stop crying, because it was really, truly her, like he had never seen.

“Mom?”

The foreign word burned his tongue, and he was startled to find that his voice was smaller that he thought it’d be. Honerva smiled in return, her white hair in up in the customary bun of his memories, and then she was before him and her arms held him close, and the sweet smell of flowers and warmth and what his childhood could have been was making him cry even _harder_ —

“Lotor,” she whispered, and the sound of her voice was like bells chiming in the wind. “I am so very proud of you. My son.”

She kneeled, then, and he realized how short he was, and then his tears fell even harder because his mother was smiling as if she were saying goodbye. He knew that this couldn't be possible. His mother had died when he was born; this was only a figment of his imagination, and yet, it felt so _real_.

“Now, my dear,” she said, wiping a tear from his face with her thumb, her other hand resting on his shoulder. “I’ll be back soon. Your father and I have some very important matters to attend to, but afterwards I’ll take you out to see the asteroid field, just like you wanted. Alright? How did not that sound?”

He felt himself nod, and her smile was radiant. He hugged her close, his small hands curling into small fists against her back. Her own palms swept him closer, and it was so warm and familiar that he wanted to stay like this, in her embrace, forever.

“Hush now, my dear,” she reassured, pulling away and meeting his eyes with another smile. “I’ll be back in no time at all.”

His heart ached as she stood and began to walk towards the waiting ship at the end of the hangar, for he knew that he would never see his mother again. This was some magic that even he could not grasp, a flash of what could have been, had things been different. As the ramp closed behind her, a deep feeling of loss began to eat away at him, unlike anything he had ever known before.

“Mom!” He yelled, reaching, running for her even as the ship took off in a billowing cloud of dust. His tears nearly blinded him as he sprinted to the rising craft, desperation taking hold, if only to touch her _one last time_ — “MOM!"

Lotor had never met his mother. He had only ever seen pictures, and now those, too, were destroyed, along with everything else that he’d cherished.

The light of the made-up memory faded, and he found himself in the dark once more. His ship was tumbling through open space. Rocks floated perilously close, and it was then that he realized that he had lost power to the main thrusters and the ship was too damaged to fly for anything longer than five doboshes. Well. Now, he could only pray that the floating chunks of stone and metal wouldn't smash him to pieces.

He simply floated for a tick or two, and the universe was silent but for the quiet hum of the ship. Lotor felt drained, despite the pure quintessence coursing through him. All of his rage was gone, as if it had simply vanished into nothingness after the quintessence field ejected him here. Would this be his fate? To rot away in the Quantum Abyss for an unknown amount of centuries as the quintessence slowly left his body? He supposed that this was penance for his sins. Yes, that must be it, his own personal hell for all of the terrible things he had done. To Allura, to the Alteans, to his generals and to everyone else. This was to be his final resting place. He couldn't say that he didn’t deserve it, because he knew within his very bones that he _did_. He had killed so many in his nearly countless years of life. So many died at his hands; his knuckles were stained by the blood of thousands.

It was all he was ever known. Killing. Since he had been a boy, it was all he was told to do. He was brought up to be a killer, to conquer mercilessly, to lead with an iron fist. It went against everything he believed in, but he did it anyway, for to disobey meant to face Zarkon’s wrath.

He felt the wave before it hit him, and again, he was unprepared.

He was in the throne room. Zarkon, his father, sat upon the throne, and Lotor felt tiny in comparison. He remembered this. This was a true memory. He remembered it all, and then, quite suddenly, he realized that he was scared.

“Prince Lotor,” Zarkon began, the title filled with utter contempt. “You have disappointed me for the last time. Your punishment is fifteen lashes.”

Lotor’s eyes filled with terror despite his best efforts to stay strong. His arms were held within the iron grasp of the guards, but he struggled despite the fact, trying his hardest to wrench free, to no avail. Tears filled his eyes, and he realized again just how small he was.

“No!” He shouted, meeting Zarkon’s unforgiving glare. “Father, please, I’ll do _anything_ —“

“Twenty lashes,” was Zarkon’s merciless reponse.

He stopped struggling, his fate lying heavily upon his shoulders. The guards held him in place, their claws digging into his skin even underneath his sleeves; he knew that the fabric would be useless soon enough. He felt the presence of the third guard behind him, but even then he shivered when the blade sliced through his robes, revealing the soft purple hue of his back. His eyes slammed shut and he braced himself for the first strike.

_Thwack!_

The electro-whip caught him off-guard, and it was all he can do to bite back his scream. The guards were still at his sides, unmoving. The second blow came without warning, and this time he couldn't stop the sound that tore from his mouth. He was sobbing, his body shaking, convulsing uncontrollably from the electricity coursing through his veins. Zarkon didn't bat an eye. The third strike was harder than the others. He must have looked pathetic like this, he knew, but when the next lashes hit, he was unable to stop his screams. He felt as if time had slowed down to an eternity, that this was all he had ever known, electricity and pain as Zarkon sat upon his throne of bones and watched as his only son was whipped mercilessly at his own order. Lotor’s tears blinded him, and he was thankful that he could not see the monster that created him.

Suddenly, he was tossed to the floor, the iron grip of the guards absent from his arms. Twenty lashes have come and gone, and Lotor felt hollow.

“Get this scum out of my sight!” Zarkon roared, and Lotor’s respite was cut short; the guards took him by the arms again and began to drag him from the room. In his semi-lucid state, he caught a glimpse of his father through tear-filled eyes.

“You will never ascend to the throne,” Zarkon declared, his sickly yellow eyes boring into Lotor’s very heart. “You mangled, _stunted_ half-breed! You are _exiled_. Pray that I never ask you to return.”

He woke from the vision suddenly, and the first thing he was aware of was that the ship had crashed. Red emergency signals flickers from the console, and the entire chamber was enveloped in a haze of smoke. He coughed, the sound foreign to his ears. Then, he unclipped the safety belt and unceremoniously fell to the ground in a heap of limbs and armour. The smoke itched his lungs; he coughed again, reaching for the console and pulling himself up with one shaky arm. His eyes, half-lidded with pain, scanned the damage.

The ship was nowhere near close to flyable. The quintessence field was more damaging than he had thought. His other ships were surely gone, torn apart into oblivion by the gravity well. The comms systems were undeniably shot as well. Essentially, he was stuck. Perhaps, with time, he could scavenge enough from the other systems of the ship to repair the communications panels, but that would mean tearing up his hard work and expending the ship’s energy further to run diagnostics to make sure that he was only taking out parts that weren’t necessary to the life-support functions.

This was quite a predicament he’s found himself in, he supposed.

His mind hurt. He could still feel the power of the quintessence in his veins, but it brought him no joy, instead a pervasive self-hatred, because now, this power that he’d for some reason craved brought him no closer to what he had envisioned. Power, he realized, was a destructive, manipulative thing, and he’d fallen prey to it just like Zarkon and Haggar had.

He was no better than his parents. He should have been, that’s all he’d strived to do. Be _better_. He’d failed, he saw that now. He’d failed catastrophically, and there was nothing he could do to change things. When he’d founded the Altea colony, draining them of their quintessence hadn’t been his goal. But over the centuries he had become desperate, so thirsty for the knowledge that would allow him to transcend realities that he himself had begun to lose his mind in the process, and even then he hadn’t realized. He had thought that he was doing it for the greater good, but he knew now that he was doing it for no good at all. Nothing had come out of his _research_.

He looked over his shoulder, and the dark star emitted another wave. Lotor shut his eyes, gently exhaling as he was swept away into the past.

Sunlight. Soft, golden light, spilling between the gaps in the trees above him. He squinted, unaccustomed to such brightness. It had been so long since he was on anything but a starship that he’d nearly forgotten the feeling of sunlight on his skin. He smiled, despite himself. And then, he exited the woods, and the sight before him wiped the smile clean from his face.

Everything was burning. The smell of charred wood filled his nostrils and he had to cover his nose with his sleeve to keep from coughing. Eyes watering, he walked towards the fire; to his horror, within the flames he could see buildings. This used to be a town, but now it was only ashes.

Lotor toppled to his knees, the memory so painful that it felt like a physical wound. He breathed in, deeply, and sobbed as he exhaled. This, too, was his fault. He hadn’t been strong enough. He was never strong enough. The tears, unbidden, flowed freely, and try as he might, Lotor could not tear his gaze away from the fire. He remembered this, clearly, more clearly than he remembered most things. He had been a boy, and his father sent him to conquer a world, to bend the will of the people and take and take and _take_ —

Lotor hadn’t wanted to do it, so he had found a better way. He only extracted quintessence in amounts that could be naturally replenished. The planet, the people, had thrived under his kind rule, but kindness and peace were not the Galra way. From his very birth, his father had tried to instil within him the number one principle: victory, or death. Lotor had never listened, for he had been an idealistic fool who thought that there was a way to show Zarkon that cruelty was not necessary. He had failed then, just as he had failed now, and people had died for it.

Reality snapped back into place before he was ready, and the dark claimed his vision once more. He breathed heavily, his hands shaking. He did not know if he could take this much longer. He knew that the quintessence field did not not create, but amplified and revealed. He supposed now that perhaps it was necessary for him to go in there. It had given him clarity, the likes of which he had never before possessed. He could see the consequences of his actions, the ripple effect that had slowly been turning into a tsunami ever since he’d started the first colony.

Looking up at the dense neutron stars being pulled apart around him, he felt as if part of his own being was being pulled away as well. He knew that he was far enough from the gravity well to be in any danger, but the feeling gripped him nonetheless.

He wished, more than anything, that he could have a second chance. He wanted to fix things. He wanted to be _better_. He saw it now, more than ever. He had been wrong in so many ways, and it had cost him more than he could have ever imagined. He didn't need this power, or an empire. He never had. He just wanted a _home_.

When the next wave came, it caught him completely off guard.

White light blurred his vision, and when it dissipated, Lotor didn’t know how to feel.

"Allura," he breathed. She was so close to him, and so beautiful... He resisted the urge to cry right there.

"It'll be alright," Allura said, looking into his eyes, her soft hands taking one of his own within them. He was frozen, unable to move as she stared up at him. "You're safe now. Nothing can get you here."

He fell, his hand slipping from hers. 

"I'm so sorry," he grovelled, tears streaming down his face, unable to meet her eyes again. "All I ever do is destroy."

Miraculously, she knelt with him, and he was forced to answer her unchanging gaze. He was surprised to find that there was no hatred in her face, and that her small smile was genuine. Carefully, she moved closer, wrapping her arms around him. Something was changing. He didn’t know what it was, but with Allura's arms around him, he felt something shift. He broke the embrace, taking in her gentle smile. He knew he did not deserve this. Like the first vision he had of his mother, he was positive that this wasn't real. It couldn't be. 

"It is," Allura nodded. "Take my hand, Lotor. Take my hand, and change your fate."

He stared at her outstretched palm, open and inviting. He looked into her eyes, warm and kind. And then, knowing that he had nothing left to lose, he took her hand.

Back on the ship, Lotor's stared unseeingly into the mesmerizing sight of the Abyss, and he was so absorbed by his vision that he didn’t notice when his very being started to glow. Allura's voice whispered in his ear even as his body vanished from the pilot’s chair in a bright flash, and in its place— a single, shining gem, humming with unimaginable power.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor finds himself in the past and vows to do things right.
> 
> or: vignettes from New Altea, and a small look into Haggar's mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to everyone who's wondering about the white gem, it's basically a very dense block of lotor's excess quintessence. or at least thats what i'm making it. next chapter: lotor + galra empire shenanigans and maybe a peek at the generals. <3

Lotor woke with a start. His breathing came harsh and fast, as if he were a drowning man gasping for air. It took him a moment to realize that he was no longer in the cockpit of a failing ship. In fact, he didn’t think that he was anywhere near where he was a moment ago, as the Quantum Abyss was gone from his field of view.

He sat up, slowly, and a shooting pain went through his entire being. He gasped, falling back on the— bed? His eyes darted around his surroundings, and it became clear that he was in some sort of bedroom. Lotor shut his eyes, attempting to get his rapid breathing under control as the pain slowly dissipated. After a few ticks, he sat up, and this time the pain was not so sudden. He was immensely sore, as if he’d spent the last decaphoeb holding up the weight of an entire star system.

It was then that he realized that the power he’d gained in the quintessence field was gone. 

Relief washed over him, and he couldn't help but laugh. His veins were no longer burning from the heat of the raw quintessence, and the throbbing in his head had ceased. With a grunt, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and shakily stood. For a moment, black spots danced in his vision, but then they, too, faded away. Right then, Lotor acknowledged quite suddenly that he was wearing nothing but his thin grey flight suit, and the familiar weight of his armour was absent. The realization sent him into a panic, for he almost _never_ took off his armour anymore. Some might think he was paranoid, yes, but ten thousand years of life have shown Lotor that enemies would use any opportunity to strike, and if he let his guard down for even a _tick_ — then his enemies would use that to their advantage. He didn’t know where he was, his armour wasn't on him; surely, this could only be a trap.

_“Take my hand, Lotor,”_ Allura’s voice echoed. _“Take my hand, and change your fate.”_

His eyes fluttered shut. He needed to think. Where was he? Where could he possibly be? Opening his eyes again, he scanned the room. There, tucked behind the small desk, was his armour. Relief coursed through his veins as he quickly crossed the room in three long strides, feeling immediately better once the hard metal was again within his grasp. He didn’t relax until his armour was fully secured. _Paranoia_ , his mind whispered at his actions. He quenched the thought with one armoured fist. No, not paranoia. _Necessity_. He didn’t know where he was or what enemies lay on the other side of the door. _Ten thousand_ years of experience. No, he would not be fooled so easily.

The door opened before him automatically, and upon exiting the room, Lotor saw that his room was one of many. The passageway was empty. He didn’t know what to think of that. Making his way down the corridor, Lotor kept one hand on the hilt of his sword. Soon enough, he reached something that resembled a main door, and upon deciding that he really has nothing to lose, Lotor pulled the lever on the wall that most probably served as a locking mechanism. The metal opened agonizingly slow, but once it did, Lotor stepped out, and his breath was immediately swept away.

Before him was the Altean colony, but it was evident that the first mission had only just landed the day before. Alteans milled about in small groups, laughing and talking amongst themselves, glad to be alive. He looked out in wonder, both confused and immensely relieved. It seemed that Allura’s words from his vision were true. He would get a second chance.

And yet, upon coming to the realization, his shoulders dropped. Just because this chance had been given to him did not not erase the choices he had made in the past. Every single life he took weighed on his conscience, or what remnants of it remained. Inside, he still felt as if he were broken, but he knew one thing for certain. Ignoring his own shattered state of mind, he knew that he mustn’t let this opportunity go to waste. He would be better than he was, he swore it. He only wished that the cost could have been avoided, but that was no matter now.

Suddenly, an Altean man appeared beside him. He was weary, Lotor could see, but the smile on his face was genuine, and in his eyes Lotor could see that this man was beyond happy.

“Prince Lotor,” the stranger greeted politely. “I do not think that I have had the pleasure of meeting you personally. My name is Magnus. The others and I were wondering when the next rescue mission would go out. We have a group of volunteers.”

Lotor smiled, making a promise to himself. He would not let any harm come to these people. He would help them in any way he could to re-establish their community in this secret haven, and he would protect them with his _life_. It was the least he could do. Allura was somewhere out there, and while he waited, he would make sure that her people— _their people_ — had a home for her to return to. He would never fail again. He _couldn't_.

Looking back at Magnus, Lotor nodded.

“Sounds like a plan,” he said firmly. “Ready your people. We leave at dusk.”

* * *

Settling into the pilot’s chair, Lotor realized just how far back in time he’d gone. He must have only been around a thousand years old at this point. _Oh_. He froze, his eyes widening. The realization shook him to his very core. He remembered things from his past life, _past life_ because that’s all he could refer to it as, but those memories are somehow fainter than he remembered.

No matter. He couldn't deal with this now, for he had a mission to lead. He would deal with it in his own time, when there was no one else around to see him break. It was the only way he knew how to deal with his emotions. It was all he’d ever known. He had never let himself really trust anyone before, except— _Allura_. It broke him, it did, but he couldn't afford to think about her right now. The mission was too important, this, his cause was too important. He would fall apart, that was inevitable, but he would fall apart alone. Steeling himself, Lotor wrapped his fingers around the ship’s steering controls. The comm came to life in a quick buzz of static.

“We’re ready to launch,” relayed Magnus over the comm system. “On your mark, Prince Lotor.”

Lotor’s brows furrowed together with grim determination. 

“Liftoff in three doboshes,” he stated, one hand leaving the controls to check over the results of the final diagnostics that were displayed on one of the side panels. Nothing with the ship seemed to be out of the ordinary, so Lotor took that as his cue to start the main thrusters, and soon enough, the ship was rising up, up above the clouds and into the vast expanse of open space, the peaceful planet below slowly becoming smaller and smaller as the distance between it and the ship grew ever bigger. 

Lotor closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Everything was still for a moment, and it was like time itself had stopped, like the entire ship was suspended here, in this moment. As he exhaled, his gloved fingers tightened around the controls, and with one swift pull the ship hurtled into hyperdrive, and the stars streaked away.

* * *

The colony grew exponentially. That first mission, and every mission after, was one success after another, and Lotor found that he had finally achieved something that made him genuinely happy. The people, albeit sad that their homeworld was gone, were making progress on this new planet. And, in a way, their passion to build a better future despite the destruction of the planet they were born on helped Lotor deal with his own losses, for he had lost so much.

First, his mother, then his planet, then his generals and his hopes and his dreams. His life before this rebirth had been nothing but loss; loss after loss after loss. He had never known kind, loving parents, nor had he ever seen his home planet, either of them. He had never known true love, or any love at all. Warm, gentle feelings that were so numerous in this haven were so foreign to him, and he didn’t know how to adjust. It had been decaphoebs since he’d established the now-prosperous colony, but despite the fact that he knew he was safe here, the armour never once left him.

At the same time, if he ignored his personal demons like he has nearly all his life, he could see that the colony was so much better now than it ever was. Once all of the rescue missions were completed, he and the colonists had established a primary council, with Magnus positioned at the lead. Lotor was, of course, on the council as well, by Magnus’ invitation and the people’s support, but he was mostly there as outside help. He still had a life to lead outside of the colony, after all. Despite the fact that he despised the Galra, he was still their prince.

It saddened him, to be unable to spend all of his time on the colony world, but he would never be able to keep them safe if he stayed there, for there were endless dangers lurking within the depths of space. He had to protect them, because no one else would. This was his secret, his responsibility, and _no one_ , not Haggar, not Zarkon, not _anyone_ would be able to rip it from his grasp. He could not allow that to happen, and therefore it would not. He couldn't believe in anything else, or else he was afraid that he would lose himself, just as he had before.

His legs dangled over the cliff that he sat on in contemplation, a warm summer breeze fluttering his hair. It was a strange sight; the wayward Galra prince, sitting peacefully on an outcropping overlooking an Altean town. The corners of his lips turned up as he watched a group of children play in the clearing underneath the cliff. These children were the future of a new Altea.

One of them, a young, dark-skinned girl with fair hair, looked up at him with a smile and waved, and soon the entire group followed suit and Lotor found himself looking at a whole group of waving children. His small smile grew, and he waved in return, and then the children went back to their game. He took a deep breath, the sweet-smelling air cool in his lungs. This was the scent of freedom. 

As if in slow motion, Lotor let himself fall back into the green-coloured grass, his back softly hitting the ground. The stars above him shone brighter than he remembered them being, but he didn’t reject this new light. Instead, he allowed his eyes to flutter shut and revelled in the feeling of the warm sunlight as it surrounded him completely. Almost unknowingly, a tear slipped from his eye, and then another, and another, until his tears were overflowing, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. He found that he didn’t want to. It had been so long since he cried that it almost felt like a blessing, a reminder of his humanity. _He could still cry_. It was a welcoming thought.

Lotor didn’t know how long he lay there for, but when he opened his eyes the sky had already darkened, and a pale crescent moon spilled its silver light upon the grass. He stood, his movements careful, and looked over the cliff. Everything looked so peaceful.

With one last glance at the twilight sky, Lotor turned around and started the trek downwards into the town. Another piece of his past life fell away.

* * *

Lotor was three thousand years old, and he was so incredibly _tired_.

Electricity coursed through his body as his limbs convulsed, and he was so exhausted that even his screams faded away long ago. He didn’t understand what the point of Zarkon giving him over to the Druids every so often was. Yes, his lifespan was quite unusual, but none of their tests had ever given them conclusive results. His very existence was an anomaly, both to himself and to anyone else who wished to understand how he had lived for so long. Somewhere in his memories, he remembered— _ten thousand years of experience_ — but those words were long since faded remnants of a life that he was no longer living. 

His head lolled to his shoulder, and in the corner of his eye he could see her, the High Priestess herself. His father’s witch. Every time he was there, she came, perhaps so she could revel in his torture, or maybe to just to see how much more he could take. Either way, her presence caused a wave of pure hatred to rise in his chest, up and up and up until he was screaming, screaming until his vocal chords were raw and his voice was breaking and he felt empty inside. He shielded his inner thoughts with every shred of his remaining willpower— she would not break him. She _could not_ break him, or else everything would be lost.

Haggar stood above on the observation deck. Unsurprisingly, Lotor did not not crack, but Haggar had to try nonetheless. She hoped, that perhaps this time Lotor’s body and mind would yield answers. She would find that which made him immortal, or she would rip him apart. Metaphorically, of course, until he was reduced to nothing but a mindless puppet that she could twist to her will. He was only dangerous because she had not yet found a way to control him. If he had his mind, he posed a dormant danger to the throne. Zarkon, heartless as he was, would not kill his son.

Below, the long-silent prince began to scream. With one final look of distaste, Haggar turned, her mouth curling into a sneer as she did so.

“Take him to a holding cell,” she commanded, her rough voice hard in its order. The druid she spoke to nodded and headed down to the main level to inform the others. Next time, she would break him.

* * *

Unity Day was the biggest of event of the year on New Altea. This time, it marked the fifth millennium since the foundation of the colony. Lotor stood on the palace platform overlooking the now-sprawling city. Beside him stood the rest of the Altean council. Mairin, the current chancellor, stood to Lotor’s right, her firm gaze scanning the crowd below. This was to be the biggest Unity Day celebration in eons, and all of them were determined to make it the best one yet.

“The time for your speech has almost come, Chancellor Mairin,” said Lotor with a polite bow of his head. Mairin laughed at his antics, knowing full well that such formality was his form of sarcasm. 

“So it has, Prince Lotor,” she answered with a grin, looking up at him, her dark eyes unable to conceal her excitement. This was far from her first speech as Chancellor of New Altea, however it would likely be the most important, as today, the entire planet was listening.

Lotor stood back with the rest of the council as Mairin stepped onto the raised podium and greeted the cheering crown standing in the main square, and so large were they in number that the size of the crown was hard to gauge. Lotor could see the tall statue of Magnus in the middle of the square, a testament to his term as leader during the turbulent beginnings of the colony. He smiled when he saw that some parents had placed their awestruck children on the statue’s pedestal. 

He found himself more at peace than he had been in a long time.This planet, the colony— this was where he felt the most safe, although he never quite liked using the word, as safety was never ensured, not for him. The universe was ridden with dangers, blades were pointed at him from all sides, and then there was also his father and the witch. Compared to the rest of the universe, however, this planet was as safe as it could get. And yet, his armour was still on him, and the weight of it had grown so familiar over the years that he hardly ever doubted its presence. Some habits were hard to shake, he supposed, but another part of him whispered that this wasn’t a habit at all, that this was a precaution. Lotor had been tricked far too many times to be careless about any part of his built-up persona. To the outside world, that is. New Altea was a different matter altogether. Here, he could perhaps risk exposing a little bit of his true self, the one that was nearly on the verge of breaking.

Mairin began her speech.

“Citizens of New Altea,” she started, a smile upon her face and her hands stretched towards the sky. “Today is an incredibly important anniversary for our people, for today marks the fifth millennium since the creation of our world. Our people grow stronger by the day in this happy haven, despite the hardships our ancestors faced. If these decaphoebs have taught us anything, it is that we will prevail, even in the face of terrible odds. Although Altea was destroyed during the war, we— its people— live on, so that our children and their children after them will know what true peace means. The colony started with few, but now we are many, and the planet is no longer the empty land it was. Cities and towns litter the beautiful landscape. Our infrastructure has grown above and beyond. To my citizens here in the crowd below, and to the millions of viewers at home, it is my greatest honour to stand before you today and begin this wondrous celebration. May our New Altea live on for another five millennium and beyond.”

Thunderous applause, the cheering of thousands of Alteans could be heard below. Mairin smiled again with a nod towards her people as fireworks erupted from behind the main building. The crowd looked up in awe, and so did Lotor. The alchemists of this new world knew how to work wonders with fireworks, and the magnificent display above was proof. As time went on, the fireworks dwindled, and at last the magical show slowly came to a close. The crowd below was energized and completely awestruck, for never had they seen something of this magnitude. Secretly, Lotor was slightly taken aback as well; this was unlike anything he had ever witnessed, but it was a good sort of surprise. He was proud, he really was. These long years in isolation were good for the colony. They had accomplished so much.

He turned away from the view and joined the retreating council members. It was time for the celebrations to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to LemonsAndSugarMakeLemonade, sabby, Arcantos_the_Storyteller, GlitterGold, Averan, QueenSerpentine, and Kyndall for leaving comments on the previous chapter! just as a heads up for future parts, as i don't wish to falsely inflate the number of comments, replies to questions will be written in the closing notes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A part of his mind that was worryingly larger that he’d thought it was longed for the happy days, but his more realistic self knew that those days had long since passed. Now, he was only left with faint traces of memories, echoes of a distant time.
> 
> or: a more in-depth look at Lotor's daily existence.

Lotor visited Daibazaal as often as he could. Although he had never seen the planet in its prime, there was something that drew him to the haunting ruins of the Galra homeworld. His ship floated above the rocky remains of his home planet—or, more accurately, the closest to a home planet he had, as he wasn’t entirely sure where he was born. But that, like many things, did not matter now.

He didn’t know how long he sat there for, floating through the carcass of the broken world. There was something almost poetic in the way the planet’s destruction originated in one centre point. He didn’t know what happened, exactly; almost no one did. From what Lotor could grasp from the early memories of his childhood and his own further research, there had been some sort of quintessence rift formed by the first comet, which later expanded and resulted in the unavoidable destruction of the entire planet. He found that the whole thing was quite fascinating. If he could open a rift like that again, find a better way of obtaining quintessence—then the suffering of countless worlds enslaved by the Empire could finally end. However, that would mean a need for a second comet, because no ship apart from Voltron was known for being strong enough to withstand the force of raw quintessence, and Voltron hadn’t been seen since the start of the war, many millennia ago. _Sincline_. He recalled a memory—faint, and he wasn’t entirely sure it was his—a set of three ships, bright light, _we can’t just_ leave _him here_ —

The sharp pain of the memory and the headache that followed was nearly enough to split his head open. A hoarse sound tore from his throat, half yell and half something else entirely—something primal, almost like barely concealed grief. Everything _hurt_. Black spots danced in his vision, and for a split second he could swear he saw red, a whole planet instead of broken chunks of rock, but then the moment was gone and everything was dark again.

He didn’t know what to think, so he turned his ship around and headed away from the planet, feeling deeply unsettled. It was a while before he came to Daibazaal again.

* * *

Lotor had always found it amusing whenever he ran into Galra forces in his own far-off region of space. Yes, he was still technically their prince, but most of the Galra either forgot about him or tried to ignore his position, and that was precisely how he wanted it. Without strict responsibilities to the Galra regime, Lotor was free to do as he pleased, and that freedom was one of his most-prized accomplishments. In a way, his exile had been a blessing in disguise. He had all the knowledge of the Galra Empire and its inner workings, and using that information to undermine them proved to be quite useful. What also proved to be quite useful, however, was his ability to pull rank.

So, when Lotor ran into a Galra ship this far out in space and only two sectors from the colony, he was glad of his position within the imperial hierarchy, for _this_ , this was too close to the planet for his liking. It was only a small shuttle, no threat at all, really. A scouting mission. Lotor frowned. If the Galra were to send further scouts or patrols or if he hadn’t been there—he was almost afraid to think of the consequences. He would have to deal with this and put a stop to the Empire digging around in this part of the universe once and for all.

Becoming aware of a steady beeping from the comm systems, Lotor realized that the Galra ship was hailing him. He opened the frequency and leaned back in his seat, taking a more arrogant air as he faced down the commander of the Galra shuttle.

“Unidentified spacecraft, you have trespassed on an official Galra scouting mission,” said the commander, narrowing his eyes at Lotor. The half-Galra prince only chuckled darkly in return, taking his time before giving a reply. He had to wait just until the commander was uncomfortable enough to repeat his words, and then he would strike with his own calculated response.

“I repeat, unidentified—“ There it was.

“My most sincere apologies,” interrupted Lotor, not sincerely in the slightest. He saw the commander visibly swallow and secretly allowed himself a small smile. He was only getting started. “Commander… Sokta, is it?”

Sokta’s facade quickly fell apart upon the utterance of his name. He paused, and then, seemingly regaining his composure, “yes, that’s me, sir.”

Excellent.

“Well, then, Commander,” intoned Lotor as he sat up straighter in his chair and leaned forward on his elbows, feeling a brief pang of satisfaction when the commander almost imperceptibly stepped back. “I am quite afraid that it is in fact _you_ who is trespassing on _my_ mission.”

“Sir?” Asked Sokta, very evidently confused. Lotor smirked, and his eyes were wicked sharp as the commander looked visibly torn between the decision to stand his ground or to take another step back. The man stood his ground. _Good_ , thought Lotor. It seemed as though these dogs that were in charge of the Empire’s military forces weren’t as spineless as he had thought previously.

“Do you not recognize me, Commander?” Questioned Lotor, feigning offence, one hand absentmindedly typing on one of the side panels. “Well, then. This should remind you. Prepare to receive incoming clearance codes.”

On his screen, Lotor saw the commander shakily nod and turn away to look at the codes that the prince had sent him. He watched as the man’s eyes scanned the transmission, and then smirked when the commander suddenly froze. The prince had him in his grasp now.

“P-Prince Lotor,” stammered Commander Sokta, no longer able to hide his fear as Lotor stared him down. “Your Highness, please, forgive me. I had not realized your ship would be in this sector.”

“I do not much care for your excuses, Commander,” Lotor declared, a crease appearing between his brows. “Prepare to be boarded.”

Leaving no time for the soldier to reply, Lotor shut down the transmission, focusing his gaze on the small craft before him. He could take it out with one well-placed shot right there, yes, but to truly destroy any evidence of the mission and prevent further imperial interference he had to take a much more cautious approach. Grabbing the controls with both hands, Lotor steered his fighter to dock with the other ship. He would protect the colony. _His people_.

Commander Sokta stood directly outside the airlock to greet him. Lotor knew that he would have to be very careful if he were to achieve the outcome he desired.

“Your highness,” began the commander, falling in step beside Lotor as the prince headed to the bridge. “Sir, if I may inquire, what is it exactly that you need from me?”

Lotor abruptly halted in his steps, sharply turning to face the Galra soldier, his gaze hard and calculating. “In your mission report, you will write that this is a dead zone and that there is nothing of value in this whole section of space.”

The commander blinked. Once, twice. And then, “sir?”

“You heard my orders, Commander,” reiterated Lotor, holding his head up high. “Do not play coy with me, or it will not end well for you.”

In fact, it would not end well for the commander either way; his fate had been decided the moment Lotor first laid eyes on his ship, but the poor soul didn’t have to know that. He just needed to follow Lotor’s orders under the pretence that the prince would let him go, and, well— the dead didn’t spill secrets.

After a moment of silence, Commander Sokta nodded his affirmation. “Yes, sir.”

With that, the unlikely duo headed for the bridge.

The atmosphere in the room was tense, more so on the commander’s part. The prince’s stare was wickedly sharp on the soldier’s back as the he typed his report. Lotor knew that his very presence made the man uncomfortable, and he was determined to use that to his full advantage. If his enemy was scared of him, then it would make defeating them that much easier. Given, the man didn’t know that they were on opposite sides, and, had it not been for the rather unfortunate circumstances of their meeting, they would not have had to be. Alas, this was how things were.

The commander carefully pressed one last key, and then slowly turned around to face the prince. “The report is finished, just as you wish.”

Lotor approached the console, his eyes skimming over the completed report. Everything was filled in according to his words. Eyes narrowing, the prince hit send, submitting the report to Galra command. Then, quietly, Lotor unsheathed his blade.

The commander never stood a chance. Lotor was lightning quick in his movements, and with a singular, well-placed blow, his sword had suddenly pierced the soldier’s abdomen. Betrayal flickered in the commander’s eyes, but Lotor did not give in. The prince twisted his blade in Sokta’s stomach and the man let out a pained grunt before going completely still, his body limp and his chest unmoving. Silently, Lotor tossed the dead commander to the ground, pulling his bloodied blade out of his still corpse in one swift motion. 

He said nothing. This was a necessary act, to ensure the safety of his people.

His stride was deliberate as he walked from the bridge to the airlock that connected this ship to his own craft. The entire shuttle was evidence. It had to be destroyed. 

Lotor stepped through the airlock and made his way to the pilot’s chair of his fighter. Sitting down, he began the undocking sequence, reaching with one arm for his helmet and slipping it on. Once his ship had successfully separated from the other craft, he switched on the primary thrusters and piloted the fighter away from the vessel. With a single sharp turn, Lotor whirled his ship around to face the empty shuttle, and then, the weapons systems came to life. His gaze focused, Lotor targeted the larger craft and a series of laser beams erupted from the wings of his fighter. The ship before him was now nothing but dust. 

Lotor’s gaze steeled. This was for the good of the colony.

* * *

In his exile, Lotor had taken to spending his long years exploring. He would see as much of the universe as he could and more, for he had so much time that it was felt as if it were infinite. And yet, in his exuberant freedom, Lotor had never felt more alone.

All people ever did was leave him, either by choice or due to the inevitability of death. There was no way to avoid the simple fact of mortality, he had learned that the hard way from his many years of life. He outlived everyone, and that was the simple truth.

Today was a dark day in the history of the colony. Another leader was gone, having at last succumbed to the deadliest killer of all: time. Chancellor Lysil had finally passed at the ripe old age of eight hundred and twelve. Altean lifespans, while similar to those of Galra, did not quite compare to his own longevity. His face had remained eternally youthful, even after so many millennia. Something deep inside told him that this would not change for many more to come. Perhaps he was cursed, destined to helplessly watch as everything around him turned to dust and ash.

Lotor had been at the funeral of every chancellor of the colony. This day was no different to the rest.

The new chancellor, a tall woman named Nova, stood on the podium at the head of the gathered crowd. She wore a cloak of pale pink, as was Altean custom, to show respect to the fallen warrior, for that was what Lysil had been. He had been a warrior for endless peace, an excellent swordsman and archer. His students stood at the forefront of the group, heads bowed in mourning.

Lotor did not stand beside the pyre. He never did. His place had always been at the back, where no one could see the cracks in his facade. Despite his outward indifference, he was hurting. These days were always worse than others; they were a cruel reminder of his years, of that which he could not change. And yet, no matter how much grief hollowed out his weary heart, he never let the mask slip. He couldn’t, for then it would topple his already-fragile state of mind, and then… well, he wasn’t sure what would come after that. A catastrophic breakdown, perhaps, some emergence of a power-hungry madman, maybe. He would not allow that to pass.

“Today is a day of mourning, yes, but it also marks the dawn of a new era,” Nova began, her voice a beacon of light in the fading day. The sun was setting. Even now, darkness inched upwards from the horizon. “I have heard your voice, and I will do my best to live up to your expectations. But, that will be tomorrow. This is a sacred day, dedicated to coming to terms with the great loss of Chancellor Lysil, who had served for a great four hundred years. His time as leader will be remembered fondly, and his success will live on in his students and in the boundless prosperity that he brought to our world. May his spirit find Altea.”

The woman bowed her head, her hair twisting in the wind. 

“May his spirit find Altea,” the crowd repeated in unison, a choir of a thousand voices delivering the same message. 

The pyre was lit, and soon, the bright red-orange flames had swallowed up the impending twilight and the golden shroud which enveloped the late leader. Lotor closed his eyes. He spent the day in silence.

* * *

Lotor was a magnificent pilot, and that was just hard fact. Perhaps it was due to his thousands of years of experience, or maybe it was simply because flying felt like an innate part of him that he could not live without. When it was just him and his ship and the wide expanse of uncharted territory, he felt as if he could do _anything_. His fighter felt more like home than his bed did. And, it was one of the only places that he was able to think clearly. Here, out amongst the stars, he could bring order to his many thoughts. 

He turned his mind's eye to the Empire.  It was growing, that much he knew. The last few centuries had only brought pain and darkness to the universe, and Lotor had been unable to stop it. Of course, it wasn’t really his fault, as he wouldn’t have been able to stop the universe’s descent into chaos even if he’d tried; he wasn’t Voltron, after all. And yet, a part of him felt almost… guilty. He pushed that part of himself as far away as he could. He could not afford such weak emotions, not when he had thousands of enemies hell-bent on his death.

The Galra Empire was growing, and his influence along with it. Lotor was a master tactician, and in his many years of exile in the far reaches of the galaxy, he had built a name for himself, earning the trust and loyalty of the many Galra who were stationed far from the centre of the expansive regime. Whether he liked it or not, he could not shun the Galra. It simply wasn’t smart, and he could no more ignore his Galra blood than he could change the colour of his skin and the bright yellow sclera of his eyes. 

He had grown up in the Empire, and thus the Galra principles were a part of him as well, just as his Altean heritage was. His lineage, like his lifespan, was something that he could not change, only make use of. He had the potential to rebuild the Empire from within, if he so wished. In the eyes of the rest of the regime, he was Galra first and foremost, and it was for the best that he remained that way.

Looking back upon his childhood, he supposed that he had been a rather unconventional child. No one had known what to do with him. His father had sent him to Dayak, as he himself was too preoccupied with conquering to pay much attention to his growing son. Dayak had raised him well. She had been his governess, and although he was at times loathe to admit it, she had been the closest to a parental figure he’d ever had. Although her teaching methods had not been kind, she had honed his skills with a blade and turned him into a far better swordsman than he would have been otherwise. In his early years, a part of him had hated her with a passion, but that dislike had gradually turned into grudging respect. 

If he were honest with himself (which was a rare occurrence), his time with Dayak had been the greatest of his early life. A part of his mind that was worryingly larger that he’d thought it was longed for the happy days, but his more realistic self knew that those days had long since passed. Now, he was only left with faint traces of memories, echoes of a distant time.

He returned his gaze to the controls of his starfighter. It did him no good to dwell on the past.

* * *

Lotor had no one, until he didn’t. His generals joined him, one by one, at his request. He didn’t fully trust them, but they saw more of him than his enemies did. And yet, even then, he was very careful with what parts of himself he chose to share. He could not afford to share too much, with anyone. He built up a personality, and he wore it as a mask. He was wearing many masks these days. 

It was Acxa whom he’d met first. She was an outcast, like him, but she looked passable to be a Galra. While her skin was not the customary deep lavender, but took on a more bluish hue, she fit in well enough. She was alike to him in many ways, but different at the same time. As soon as he laid eyes on her, he knew that she would be his most loyal subject. 

Narti could only be described as… something. She was a near-perfect soldier, quiet, yet always listening. Poised on the tips of her toes, so to speak. She had piqued his interest, and proven herself in doing so. Unquestionably, she was a valuable asset to his team, and an expert pilot, no less.

As for Ezor, she had a distinct character made up of a strange combination of almost childlike traits and a calculating, war-honed mind. Something in her eyes reminded him of what he had wanted to be, eons upon eons ago, when hope had coursed through his veins like wildfire. She was quick to question motives, however, and he knew from experience that that particular trait could be both problematic and helpful. Still, Lotor took her in anyway.

Zethrid had been the last to join the crew, and while Lotor had chosen her more for her brute force than for anything else, he had quickly found that she was useful in more than just a firefight. She could be hasty at times, that was true, but strength came naturally to her. Zethrid was something special, all of his generals were.

While Lotor could not consider the four of them as friends, per se, he knew that they were loyal to him, and thus they made both valuable allies and good soldiers. They worked well, the five of them, not unlike a well-oiled machine, and despite the fact that Lotor knew that they would all someday leave him just like everyone else, he found himself saddened by the fact that had driven his life for millennia. It was not difficult to grow attached to them. He only hoped that when the time came, he would still be able to let them go.

“Hello,” hummed a singsong voice. “Daibazaal to Lotor?”

He blinked, and Ezor’s hand came into view where she was waving it right beneath his nose. In one swift movement, he had grabbed her wrist and held it in a firm grip. Her startled expression quickly morphed into an almost feral-looking grin.

“Glad to know you’ve still got it,” she teased, tearing her hand out of his grasp and absentmindedly rubbing her wrist. Lotor, his mind catching up with him, only rolled his eyes and let out an amused huff in response, a smirk adorning his sharp features. 

“Why thank you, Ezor,” he drawled, tilting his head to one side, drawing a laugh from the orange-skinned girl. Sarcasm dripped from his lips as the other generals rolled their eyes. “For testing me in this revolutionary new fashion. Without your meticulous training, I would be woefully underprepared to face my enemies.”

“Ha, good one,” added Zethrid with a chuckle. “If you ask me, though, you should’ve pointed a blaster at him. Now that would _really_ wake him up.”

“Very funny, Zethrid,” Lotor commented, leaning back against his chair. His tone was lighthearted, but at the same time there was a note of warning glinting in his eyes. He was more carefree around his generals, yes, but did he trust them completely? Of course not. Trusting someone to that level that would make one blind to possibly treacherous tendencies. Vulnerable. Lotor and vulnerability were not really friends. Still, Zethrid continued to chuckle all the same, oblivious to his obvious threat. He allowed himself a small smile. It felt more like a grimace.

Kova leapt up onto the ship’s navigational console as Narti’s nimble fingers typed a series of commands into the interface. Axca stood beside her.

“Alright, then,” said the dark-haired woman, her eyes narrowed as she met Lotor’s gaze. “We’re coming up on the coordinates. The ship should exit hyperspace within the next few doboshes.” 

The prince nodded his acknowledgement and then frowned, bringing one gloved hand to his downturned chin. The witch’s project had finally been completed. He had first learned of her exploits through his inside sources, but even his ears within Galra High Command could not fully uncover her true plan. Lotor was in the dark for many years about the purpose of the device that the witch was supposedly building, as the entire operation was secret. Now that it had been completed and the first successful test had been run, Lotor needed to see the results for himself. 

If the machine was truly as deadly as the rumours said it was, then Zarkon had gained a horrific power indeed. What he heard about this weapon—simply the thought of it brought an ugly taste to his mouth. Supposedly, the Komar Experiment was created to rid the Empire of the need to colonize and mine them for quintessence; with this new device, Zarkon could extract quintessence from entire planets with a singular, crushing blow. 

Lotor almost hadn’t believed it. At first, he had thought it was a some plot of Haggar’s to lure him in and finally finish what she had started many millennia ago. Another part of him argued that it was overly-exaggerated ion-powered super weapon. However, as the years went on and the Komar Experiment went uncompleted, Lotor’s suspicions turned to the more sinister. What little information he had dictated that the experiment, if finished, would change the Galra Empire forever, and that was something that a part of Lotor was afraid of. What kind of monstrosity was the witch building that had the potential to so drastically alter the imperial reality? 

He pushed his fears aside. He had to, for to give in to fear would be to give in to weakness, and Lotor could never show weakness, not to anyone. His authority relied on this persona that he had crafted. To show fear would leave him open to attack, and Lotor had many foes. No, he would not show weakness. As far as anyone else was concerned, his fear did not exist. And yet, in the private comforts of his own mind it was there, brandishing its teeth, ready to sink its fangs right into his very heart.

“The ship is exiting hyperdrive,” Axca announced, breaking Lotor out of his thoughts. “We’re approaching—“ she cut herself short, the sight in the viewport immediately ridding her of breath. 

“What happened here?” Ezor breathed, and for once, even she was at a loss for words. Beside her, Narti stood stone still, Kova a silent spirit on the quiet general’s shoulder.

Lotor rose, leaving his chair behind as he strode forward to the glass, eyebrows slightly furrowed and his mouth held in a firm line. The planet before them was no planet at all. Chunks of rock and debris floated around their vessel, and in the middle… a hollow skeleton of what the planet should have been. So it was true, then. 

“Lotor?” Zethrid asked, turning to face him. “What is the meaning of this?”

The prince bowed his head, his hands curling into fists. 

“It means,” he started, his voice low and grim as he raised his gaze. “That the Komar Experiment was a diabolical success.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big thanks to Liaka_lucid, QueenSerpentine, Snickerdoodles27, DestiniesEntwined, LemonsAndSugarMakeLemonade, and TwoHeartsAreBetterThan1 for commenting on the last chapter, as well as everyone who's left kudos. your support means the world to me!
> 
> get ready! next chapter: voltron's back!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor takes command of the Galra Empire. Allura has a haunting encounter on Thayserix.

Lotor was alone when the first mentions of Voltron came through. 

His flagship floated freely in open space. A few quintants ago, he’d sent his generals away to tail the imperial scouts. Something was happening, that much he knew. Why exactly all the fuss, he could provide an educated guess, but Lotor preferred to have a more concrete answer. His need for evidence echoed a deeper part of himself that he was uncertain he wished to further dwell upon, the unspoken rule that he had lived by nearly all his life. _Can’t trust it unless he can see it_. 

And so, that was how he found himself on the bridge, despite the fact that it was the middle of the ship’s night cycle and he should have long since gone to bed. Sleep had, quite impolitely, elected to elude him, so he instead spent his time digging through various imperial transmissions to see if he could find something of use. Miraculously, his call was answered. One word, looping on repeat on nearly every imperial frequency: _Voltron_.

The word was far from foreign to him, but for a reason not yet known, upon hearing it now, it triggered such a reaction from his psyche that a growing part of him became almost… afraid. It felt as if his very mind was imploding. His vision blurred, he lost his footing, and then—his world turned to black.

Of this dream, he remembered only pieces. The searing light of the quintessence field, Voltron, and her. _Allura_. The last princess of Altea. He—his other self—had met her, or at least he thought he had. Of her face, he remembered only echoes, fair hair, soft light against brown skin, the soothing velvet of her voice. He was positive that he would be able to recognize her if he saw her again. He couldn’t afford to believe anything else. 

The vision ended abruptly, but the headache stayed. He coughed, suppressing nausea, and rolled to his side, using one elbow to prop himself up as he let the coughing fit runs its course. Eyes half-lidded with sudden pain, he groaned and used his still-shaky legs to stand.

He knew that in the past few decaphoebs, his father had been more hell-bent on finding the legendary ships than ever before, but seeds of doubt had begun growing in Lotor’s mind. It _had_ been ten thousand years since the magical lions had last been seen, after all. But, there was also a part of him that had no doubt at all about whether the ships would be found or not. Somewhere deep in his mind, there was a part of him that knew the return of Voltron was inevitable. He had lived it, and while most of the memories of his past self were long gone and faded, there were some things he could never forget.

_ Voltron. The second colony. Allura’s face as his secrets were stripped away, her eyes boring daggers through his unprotected chest, the way his heart had turned to ash when she compared him to his father— _

Lotor shut his eyes. The receding headache from before spiked to a level of untold magnitude, and he was forced to his knees as the pain swept through him again, a low moan slipping from his lips. He might not have remembered anything of his past life other than flashes, but he was sure that he would do better when the time came. He had to proceed with extreme caution. And yet, when he thought of Allura, a part of him itched to throw all caution to the wind. Filing the treacherous thought into the far reaches of his mind, he locked it with the rest of his self-destructive tendencies. 

The pain in his temples throbbed. Slowly, he brought his shaking hands up and held his own head between them. His mind was burning, that was the only way to explain it. Thinking of the life he was no longer living—it activated some sort of hidden self-defence mechanism, and in a way, it made sense, as knowing the future had the potential to lead to disastrous consequences. His breaths came in short bursts as his eyes squeezed shut and he curled in on himself, trying to quell the firestorm in his head. It was good that he was alone on the ship, as allowing anyone to see him like this would mean an irreparable crack in his mask. No, it was for the best that these moments were spent in solitude.

After what seemed like eons, the pain in his head gradually ebbed away and subsided, allowing his mind to finally think clearly. He would need to be very careful from now on. He couldn’t show himself, not yet, as that would prompt his father and the witch to think he was after Voltron for himself, which would undoubtedly put a target his back. And _that_ , that was the last thing he needed. He would wait until he was summoned, and then he would formulate a strategy.

Lotor had waited this long. He could wait a tick longer.

* * *

When Haggar’s summons came through and rumours of Zarkon’s downfall reached his ears, Lotor almost didn’t believe it. His first instinct was to treat it as a trap, for there was no better way for the witch to ensnare Lotor in her grasp. But, something was telling him that this was no trap, for news of Zarkon’s defeat wouldn’t have been so far-spread if it were only a ruse. Lotor was forced to believe it, and in doing so, he was placing his life on the line. His paranoia still told him that there was a possibility that this was ambush. He didn’t trust Haggar one bit, but he supposed that he _was_ the only true candidate to be his father’s, albeit temporary, stand-in.

He knew he needed to assert his dominance over the throne. Because of his exile, he had become more myth than man within the mind of the Empire. If he were to demand respect of the people when they hardly knew his name, then he would be a fool. They would never respect him without a show of power.

Thus, he found himself in the arena. 

His opponents proved to be even less of a challenge than he’d thought. And then, there came Throk. Lotor narrowed his eyes when the generals relayed Throk’s treachery. He needed to quell dissenters and solidify his place as the leader of the Empire, but that would be difficult to accomplish if a rebellion was forming within his ranks.

Lotor would never forget the dumbfounded look that crossed Throk’s face when he called the other man’s name.

“You wish to challenge me?” Lotor taunted, grabbing his sword from the sand. “Then come down and claim your crown. True Galra do not take the throne by stirring up insurrection in darkened chambers.”

Throk stood. “I accept your challenge.”

Lotor grinned, but his gaze remained cold. Well, at least the man wasn’t a coward. 

“Now all will see who is the rightful leader,” the prince declared as Throk descended to the battlefield. Lotor took on a slightly more arrogant stance, broadening his shoulders. He was small, by Galra standards, but what he lacked in strength he made up for with wit. “I have fought thousands of battles and left many enemies much more fearsome than you wasting on the battlefields.”

Throk launched himself at Lotor in response. Unsurprisingly, the soldier was not a difficult adversary; he relied too much on brute force and not enough on strategy—which may have worked had Lotor been a lesser being, but alas, that was not the case. The prince had the advantage of having many more years of experience on his side, and as confident as Throk was in his own abilities, ten thousand years of practice were hard to beat. To the average Galra, Lotor was infallible. Throk fell to him quickly; it had only taken a few strokes of his blade and a well-placed blow to the upper abdomen to knock him to the ground. 

Lotor turned to face the audience of the arena, his fist tight around the hilt of his sword. “My father built our Empire upon the bones and ashes of his enemies,” he began. “But the time has come to change the old ways, and inspire not fear from those we rule, but loyalty.”

He looked down at the fallen Galra at his feet, and after a pause, he offered his hand to Throk. “We must not waste our energy fighting to keep our subjects down, but rather multiply it, by allowing those worthy to rise and join our ranks.”

The crowd before him gasped at his actions. Lotor allowed himself a brief flash of satisfaction. He held up his sword. “The Universe can no longer doubt our strength,” his voice boomed, fire rolling off his very tongue with each meticulously-chosen word. “Each ally gained only makes us stronger, while those who continue to stand against us will be crushed.”

Gradually, the arena rose. One by one, Galra soldiers stood, pledging their allegiance to the new power. A cold smile flashed over Lotor’s face. The masses were easily manipulated.

* * *

He first crossed paths with Voltron over Puiga. 

It was a test, simple as that. The paladins evidently thought otherwise. Lotor couldn’t blame them. 

He sensed something different about the lions—the way they danced around each other was not as smooth as it had to have been for them to defeat Zarkon. Out of the five, something drew him to the blue lion in particular, a faint twinge of shocking familiarity, a flash of white—the quintessence field, a faint echo of a voice— _we can’t just leave him_ —

Lotor tightly shut his eyes, trying ignore the sudden pounding in his head. Pain shot through him like lightning, and it took all of his concentration to keep his fighter from spiralling out of control. Forcing his eyes open, he turned his back on Voltron and steered towards his capital ship, steeling his features into an expression of straightforward detachment. In his peripheral, he could see that the Black Lion was tailing him. It was expected that they weren’t going to let him go that easily, but that would be their mistake. “Acxa, set course for these coordinates. I'm going to lure the lions there.”

“Planet Thayserix?” Acxa’s voice crackled over the comm. “Why there?”

“I need to test a hypothesis,” Lotor replied, keeping his voice purposefully level. “These paladins are not the same ones who defeated my father. It seems that he did as much damage to them as they did to him. The conditions of Thayserix will render their sensors useless, thus making them easy to pick off one by one.”

“Will do,” affirmed Acxa in reply. “Recalibrating your fighter to the change in atmospheric conditions on Thayserix now.”

“Hold on,” blatantly intruded Ezor. “What’s so special about Thayserix?”

It was Acxa who responded to the question. “The planet is cloaked in dense gases and has unusual magnetic poles which distort and wreak havoc on normal sensors.”

The comm stayed silent for about a tick before Ezor’s telltale singsong sounded again. “So, the lions will be blind? No offence, Narti.”

The corners of Lotor’s lips turned upwards into a crooked smirk as he narrowed his eyes. “Precisely.”

“I still think we should just shoot them out of the sky,” thoughtfully contributed Zethrid. “We have the firepower for it, after all.”

“No, Zethrid,” the prince replied, the warning in his tone clear. “Voltron is more useful to us in one piece.”

“Your wish is my command,” acknowledged Zethrid lightheartedly, a hint of sarcasm evident in her intonation. Above him, the capital ship began to speed up. Looking over his shoulder one last time, Lotor pressed hard on the primary thrusters, sending his ship soaring forward at breakneck velocity. 

He knew for a fact that the paladins followed.

* * *

Thayserix had, unsurprisingly, not changed since he’d last seen it. The corners of Lotor's lips tilted upwards, but the cold mirth didn’t reach his eyes. He supposed that time aged planets like it had aged him, sparingly. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in—the headache that he had pushed back had returned, and it felt as if war drums were pounding an infinite beat into his very bones. Shaking his head as if to clear it, Lotor’s gaze focused. The paladins would catch up to him at any moment. Although he knew that he proved more dangerous to them than they did to him, it would do him no good if he were idle.

And then, not a dobosh later, the lions were upon him. He yanked the throttle sideways and his ship followed, careening into a steady dive towards the planet. His plan was to lead them into the planet’s gaseous atmosphere, but unlike what he’d told his generals, his final motive wasn’t to wipe them out. He needed to get close to the blue lion. Whoever the pilot was, it was them who had provoked the head-splitting ache in his mind. 

Behind him, the paladins were struggling. The planet’s distorted poles were not affecting his sensors, as he’d adjusted his craft to the changes beforehand, but he knew for a fact that the Voltron team had not done the same. No matter. That played to his advantage. His ship flipped and twisted as he navigated the hazy landscape, being careful to avoid the large pillars of rock that pierced through the clouds at irregular intervals. Without having to look, he knew that his pursuers did not have the same knowledge of the planet as he did.

Looking at his scanners, he saw that the group of lions had split up. The black, red, and green lions were still on his tail, while the yellow and blue were absent from the bunch. If Lotor knew anything, then the three that were still following him would go back for their teammates and regroup. That was when he would strike.

As per usual, he was correct in his assumption. The three lions behind him fell back, and Lotor let out an amused chuckle. Soon, they would be back, unknowingly placing themselves right where he wanted them, while they possessed no clue of the real danger. The entire region was full of Red Syntian Nitrate, a combustable gas that reacted violently to bright emissions of light. Without question, they would fire as soon as his fighter came into view, and that would be their worst mistake.

For a while, he was content to allow his ship to drift as he gathered his thoughts. The headache continued to torment him, but there was nothing he could do about it now, as he knew from experience that these headaches usually diminished in their own time. Besides, his dealings with pain were numerous. A simple throbbing in his temples was nothing in comparison to some of the things he’d been through.

Lotor gripped the throttle, so hard that his knuckles were white beneath his gloves. He glanced at his scanner for the position of the lions, and once he’d verified that they were in the red zone, he turned his ship around and headed towards their location. He was going to have to be very careful in how he proceeded. His primary objective was to isolate the blue lion from the rest of the group, but to do that he needed to break their formation.

The prince exhaled, once, and then set to work. Pushing hard on the throttle, Lotor’s ship flew forward, weaving in between the bigger crafts as if they were an obstacle course. He felt the tension in the air as if it were ozone before a strike of lightning. Despite his inability to see them, the paladins’ fear was palpable in the jerky movements of their lions in response to his quick fly-by. And yet, they hadn't fired. How very _curious_. Perhaps he’d been faster than he thought. Swinging his fighter around, he went in for a second pass, and this time, his presence was answered. 

Explosions tossed his ship around like rubble, but he was far enough away already that it didn’t much impede his movements. Narrowing his eyes at the lion that had strayed the furthest from the group, Lotor suddenly stifled a gasp. The blue lion. This was a momentous day indeed; his luck had almost never been this good. A part of him supposed that maybe it wasn’t luck that was at play here.

Leaving the other paladins to fend for themselves, Lotor launched himself into pursuit, quickly catching up to the off-balance vessel. From its uncertain turns and Lotor’s own estimations, the pilot was not experienced with flying such a craft. He allowed it to get ahead, just for a moment, and then he flew past at an alarming proximity and doubled back, by which time the lion had already disappeared. Good. Lotor’s plan was working. Looking over to his scanners, he saw that the ship was still nearby, just underneath him. 

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. The blue lion, perched on a rocky platform. It was unmoving; the pilot hadn’t seen him. Right then, his headache broke free from the back of his mind and rammed into the forefront of his thoughts with full force, bringing its pieces of memory with it, and Lotor was too weak to stop it as it tore through him, black spots dancing in his vision—a girl, her smile radiant beneath her helmet, a lock of white hair tucked behind one ear, then white, _searing_ white, and— _we can’t just leave_ —

He screamed, but it was not a scream of pain. These fragments, whatever they were, brought with them so much grief that it was nearly unbearable. What scared him most of all, however, was that the bone-deep sorrow felt as if it were _his_. He raised his head, attempting to slow his panting breaths. The blue lion was still there.

He was going to have to be very careful indeed.

Slowly, he steered his fighter over to a cliff across from the lion, turning his back on it as if he hadn't seen it. The other craft didn’t budge, and whether that was because the pilot truly believed that he hadn’t seen them or because of another reason entirely, he wasn’t sure. Once he felt his own ship touch down on solid ground, he moved to undo the straps that fastened him to his seat and slowly rose, making his way over to the exit of the fighter. He needed to see. The drumming in his skull continued, more urgent than ever before. Images flashed through his mind’s eye—a pale pink sky, white armour, the girl— _Allura_.

He _had_ to see.

The hatch above him opened.

* * *

Allura sat stone-still in her seat, as if not moving would help to render the enemy ship impervious to her lion’s location. A bead of sweat dripped past her brow, but Allura ignored it. She cursed herself for breaking formation, be it by accident or not. If she had still been with the others, than she wouldn’t have been in this position now. The fighter continued to glide smoothly along above her. 

And then, taking Allura completely and utterly by surprise, the ship slowly landed on an outcropping directly across from her own. In her shock, she hardly dared breathe. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she debated her course of action—should she flee? Would that make her an easier target? What was there to do?

Her eyes narrowed, and then, her expression morphing into one of awed astonishment, she watched as the hatch of the other ship opened. Slowly, a suited figure emerged, and although she couldn’t make out very many details, the figure, Lotor, she presumed, was definitely looking straight at her. Allura felt his heavy gaze, far away as she was, and while a part of her was screaming at herself to shoot him down, her other half was enraptured by a strange fascination in response to the figure that had emerged from the second vessel. Suddenly, a shooting pain flashed through her temples and she released a pained groan, digging a hand into one of the armrests to steady herself. Her vision turned to black for a tick, and she screamed as her head shot upwards—a flash of blindingly white light, a face, and then— _I need you Allura, please_ —

When she at last she could open her eyes, her head hung limp upon her chest. As she raised her gaze, she was surprised to find tears obstructing her vision. She could have sworn that they hadn’t been there a moment before, so why was she crying all of a sudden? Allura slowly raised her face, her eyes, half-lidded, looking through the viewport. Spotting the second ship, she was surprised to find that the figure, Lotor, still stood upon its hull. She met his gaze again, and froze as an unseen force held them in place; a careful balancing act in which the both of them were unwilling participants. And then, finally, the spell between them shattered, and Allura’s very breath was stolen from her lungs. A coughing fit seized her, and by the time it had run its course and she’d mustered the energy to glance back up at the other craft, the dark figure was gone.

Even though she remembered only fragments, the encounter haunted her for many nights after. The faint echo of a plea trailed her waking hours like a ghost. “ _Allura, please_ ,” it whispered, “ _I cannot do this without you._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: we finally get into the canon verse! moments from s3/s4 this time around
> 
> thank you again to everyone who's left comments on the previous chapter! and, naturally, kudos to everyone who's left kudos :)


	5. Chapter 5

Lotor only saw his father once when he was comatose. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

Countless tubes stretched from the ceiling to the where his father lay, each of them glowing an unmistakable harsh violet; quintessence, the purest kind the empire could get their hands on, being pumped right into Zarkon’s circulatory system. The witch stood at the emperor’s bedside, watching. The so-called bed was more reminiscent of a tomb than anything else.

For a long time, Lotor did not approach. 

His relationship with his father had always been strenuous at best, if Lotor could even call him that. The man did not possess a fatherly bone in his body. Ever since Lotor been a child, Zarkon had looked upon him with the exact same contemptuous glare. His gaze had been filled with either that, or anger. If Lotor had been particularly disappointing, his father’s eyes would be overflowing with blind-hot rage. Those days, Lotor would leave the throne room with more cuts and bruises than he’d had when he’d entered. No, Zarkon had never been a father at all.

Lotor took a step closer. The dim glow of the quintessence grew brighter the nearer he came. 

“Zarkon isn’t invincible, then.” It wasn’t a question.

“So it would seem,” hissed the witch in reply, her hands gripping the edge of the table. “But when he rises again, he will be more powerful than any god.”

Lotor’s jaw tightened. He walked closer still. “He can recover from this?”

“The power of raw quintessence is greater than your feeble mind can possibly imagine,” Haggar seethed, glaring. “You are _weak_. Zarkon is _strong_.”

Lotor sighed, his eyes tracing his father’s harsh features, an unreadable expression splayed across his youthful face. He seemed to be contemplating. The silence stretched on.

“Pity,” he finally said, turning on his heel, Haggar’s eyes boring daggers into his back until he was out of sight.

Lotor never saw the room again.

* * *

“We’re about to reach the coordinates where the readings originate,” Acxa declared from the front of the bridge. “How do you wish to proceed?”

Lotor thoughtfully swept one long finger across his chin. At first he had been sure that it was Voltron they were pursuing, but the absence of the castle-ship prompted him to reconsider. When he had been younger, he had read all of his late mother’s research from beginning to end, and in the process he had uncovered the exact frequency of the trans-reality ore that Voltron was made of. The knowledge had proved to be incredibly useful in tracking the paladins’ location, hence why he had been positive that the energy signals would lead him to the famed weapon.

“Approach with caution,” Lotor directed in response, his eyes narrowing. “Assume that we will be seen as hostiles, but do not activate weapons systems.”

“Noted,” Acxa replied as Narti typed into the main console. Ezor and Zethrid stood close by, backs straight and eyes glinting with determination. Lotor leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other with an ankle resting on his knee. In the distance, he could see a bright light, and as they approached—no, _it couldn’t be_. Half a ship could be seen protruding from a white fissure, a rift in the fabric of the universe itself. 

A distant recollection— _the quintessence field_ —he felt the inevitable migraine before it came. Schooling his face into a neutral expression, his gaze remained focused as the headache ripped through his mind. The generals didn’t suspect a thing. He had many millennia to perfect the art of concealing his pain.

“It’s a ship!” Zethrid exclaimed, stating the obvious. Lotor fixated his eyes on her, and the agony coursing through him melted away into a tingling discomfort as he forced it to the back of his mind. 

“Narti, Ezor, pull up any readings of energy signals emanating from the craft,” Lotor ordered, a crease appearing between his brows. “I want to know where it came from.”

He scanned the characters displayed on the holo-screen as Narti and Ezor pulled up the ship’s scans of the readings. According to the data, the energy signals didn’t originate from the craft itself, but from an object inside of it. The only thing that Lotor knew for certain was that Voltron was out of the question, as there was still no sign of the Altean ship. Logically, there was only one other thing it could possibly be, and if his theory proved correct, then this was truly an incredible discovery.

“Is it possible to gain access to the ship without having to pass through the rift?” Asked Lotor, his frown deepening. Before him, Acxa shook her head.

“I don’t think so,” she replied, eyebrows furrowing. “The rift—it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. We can try to go through it—“

“No,” the prince interjected, holding up a hand. “Our ship stands no chance if we approach. Invert the readings and scan the vessel. It is imperative that we act quickly, for while it is fortuitous that we were the first to arrive, if we do not act now and capture the ship, there is no telling who will.”

Acxa did as he instructed. Skimming through the results of the scan, she frowned. “The energy signals, they’re coming from what looks to be a comet.”

Lotor didn’t even flinch, but his thoughts raced ahead. He had been correct in his assumption, after all. If he could obtain the comet, he could bring peace to the Empire, an untold age of prosperity unlike any that the Galra had seen before. With this comet, he could stop the barbaric deeds of the Komar once and for all. This was a predicament indeed. He needed to think quickly.

“What do you propose we do?” Questioned Ezor from across the bridge. “You said yourself that we would not be able to pass through the rift.”

Lotor grinned, and under the light, his smile looked almost predatory. A plan had formulated in his mind, one which was bound to succeed. He knew that it was necessary to deceive Voltron if he wanted to keep his position in the Empire secure. His generals were with him; he could not show compassion now.

“Begin transmission of an Altean distress signal,” he commanded, leaning forward in his seat. “Voltron will obtain the comet for us.”

* * *

Lotor stood alone on the viewing deck. His subjects worked in the expansive area below, where the Sincline ships were being built. A glimmer of pride shone within his eyes, finally, _finally_ , after so many long years, he had found a way. Once his ships were completed, the Galra Empire would never have the need to destroy another innocent world. He would have to take the throne—he and his father had never seen eye to eye, and he knew for a fact that Zarkon would never allow the existence of such ships in the possession of anyone but himself. He found that he did not look forward to the prospect; Lotor didn’t want to become Emperor, for quite unlike what many thought, power had never been his goal. The only thing he had ever truly wanted was peace. And now, it looked like he might finally be on the path that would end the needless suffering of billions and cement democracy throughout the universe. He allowed himself a small smile, just this once.

At last, something was going his way. 

His generals’ failure to steal the Teludav lens was… most disappointing. He had hoped to bring it to the alchemists on the colony, as he knew that without blueprints or something to use as a springboard, such as the lens, the time it would take to advance their technology would be multiplied tenfold. Alas, his generals had failed. Voltron had impeded his progress. He understood, of course, why the paladins had seen so viciously to the destruction of the Teludav lens; they didn’t know the whole story. Alas, he could not tell them now, for the time was not yet ripe. If he left the Empire right this moment and his forces found out that he was conspiring with whom they viewed as the enemy, his control over them would shatter. At best, they would leave for Zarkon or another individual faction. At worst, they would stage a mutiny that would result in his death. Neither of the options much appealed to him, so he was stuck playing the long game. The right time would come around, eventually. For now, he would have to continue on his current path.

The second of the first two ships was nearly ready, and the first was now in the testing stage. So far, the results had been astronomically successful. Lotor was confident that the two other ships would ascend to equally-astonishing heights. 

He knew that Narti was coming up behind him even before she appeared in his field of view. Kova perched on the tall general’s shoulder, as she was accustom to. Lotor’s smile vanished, his features taking on a definitively detached expression. And yet, he allowed a twinge of amused awe to glitter in his eyes.

Turning his gaze back to the ships, he remarked, “They are quite magnificent, are they not?”

Almost imperceptibly, Narti’s chin dipped in a nod of affirmation. Lotor’s lips curled into something that resembled a grin. He didn’t speak after that.

* * *

“My Lord, we just received a message from central command,” Acxa stated, looking to Lotor.

“Emperor Zarkon requires your presence immediately.”

The prince stood from his chair. So, his father had emerged from his coma, after all. It was no surprise, really. The witch’s machinations were usually both terrifyingly destructive and stingingly successful. That was what made her such a threat; her endeavours rarely failed. Most of what she planned came to fruition, and that was what had always angered Lotor to his very core. It was no different now. He walked from the bridge. His generals followed.

“My father seeks to relieve me of my position,” Lotor said coolly as they made their way to the hangar. “But that is of no concern to me. Our plans remain the same.”

They turned a bend in the corridor. Lotor’s stare hardened. “Narti, with me. The rest of you, continue overseeing construction of the Sincline ships. As of now, they are our main priority.”

Acxa handed him his helmet as he prepared to board his cruiser. “Understood, sir.”

When the smaller craft departed from the flagship, Lotor didn’t look back.

The journey to the main fleet was not a long one, but Lotor found himself savouring his time. Without question, Zarkon’s first action as emperor would be to cast him out, again. He was used to it, though. The times when he’d actively sought his father’s pride had long since passed. Nowadays, he only had himself to please, and that suited him just fine, thank you very much. And yet, some distant part of him remained sad, longing for the family he’d never have. He didn’t acknowledge it, as the thoughts would do him no good.

Soon enough, Zarkon’s command ship appeared on the horizon, or lack thereof. It did not take the duo long to sail into one of the open hangars and disembark. As soon as his feet met the hard metal floor of the battle cruiser, he sensed the familiar dark inkling that he got around the witch; that tiny, unsettling feeling at the back of his neck that left him almost shivering. Lotor suppressed a shudder.

“Hello, Haggar,” he greeted coldly, a frown passing over his features. The witch only narrowed her sickly yellow eyes in return.

“Emperor Zarkon awaits your presence in the throne room,” she said, her voice not dissimilar what one would imagine a snake to sound like. Turning her back on him, she walked slowly from the hangar. “Come, Prince Lotor.”

He followed. It wasn’t as if he had a choice, after all.

The throne room seemed darker when Zarkon sat upon the throne. His very presence demanded attention, as if his entire being was overflowing with power. Lotor was very nearly overwhelmed. No one should return from the dead, let alone more than once. He knew about the first time his father had died; the very first colonists had told him when he’d asked them how the war had started. It all made sense, in a dark, twisted way. His father was never like he’d thought a father should’ve been because he had already been long gone, but the fact brought neither comfort nor relief.

“Father, it gives me such pleasure that you've made a full recovery,” Lotor started, the lies slipping from his lips as smoothly as honey. Deception was a second skin. He lied as easily as he breathed. “You look stronger than I've ever—“

“Silence.” The pure _fire_ in his father’s voice cut deeper than Lotor had thought it would. He took the wounded part of himself and tucked it away. He was long since used to harsh words.

“I did not bring you here so that I could listen to your blatant flattery,” Zarkon boomed, his unnatural violet eyes bright against the dark grey of his visor. “You are relieved of your position, effective immediately. Your short-lived rule will be seen as a dirty smear upon the prosperous history of the empire.”

“I understand that my ways have been… erroneous,” Lotor admitted, bowing his head as if in shame. “But, do not cast me aside! My methods must seem feeble compared to your inestimable accomplishments, but I can learn.”

His father did not even move. “You are no longer needed.”

The words were the equivalent of a large, immovable door being slammed shut in his face. Lotor closed his eyes, seemingly defeated. “As you wish.”

He rose, long hair swaying as he walked. Zarkon had told him exactly what he expected to hear. Now that he no longer had duties to the empire, he was free to pursue his projects as he desired. Once he was far enough away, he permitted a small smirk to grace his features. His father had played into his plans nicely.

* * *

“Divert all power to defences,” Lotor growled as he marched down the open passage, his eyebrows furrowed. “Hold the attack off until we’re away. Then scuttle—”

The ship lurched sideways, the ground tilting beneath their feet. Lotor found his balance first. Acxa stood behind him, her expression a cross between determination and disbelief. “How did they find us?”

“We must’ve been tracked,” Zethrid replied angrily as the walls of the ship creaked and groaned. It would not hold out much longer. 

Lotor’s eyes darted back and forth as he thought, his mind racing. When he’d returned from Galra High Command, he had destroyed all trackers, hadn’t he? _No_. His growing suspicion turned to dread once he realized that it wasn’t suspicion at all. No matter how much he wanted to pretend otherwise, he knew for certain that there was only one possibility; the Galra had an inside source. There had only been one other person with him when he visited the main fleet. Narti.

He looked at her, his gaze hard. He wanted nothing more than to be proven wrong, just this once, but when his gaze fell upon her, he felt the unmistakeable chill at the back of his neck, and _knew_. His other generals stood stone still, even as the sounds of the explosions grew louder and the hull inched closer to the breaking point. His feet planted firmly on the floor, Lotor closed his eyes.

Later, when it was all said and done, he would tell himself that she’d died as soon as Haggar set her sights upon her. But this was now, and Lotor felt his heart turn to ash at the realization of what he had to do. He wished he were wrong. He knew in his heart that he wasn’t.

And then, lighting quick, almost faster than the eye could see, he leapt with his sword in his hand and cut her down. Narti fell to the floor with a nauseating thud. Killing her was akin to sinking a dagger into his own heart. He hadn’t wanted to do it—she was one of his generals and a loyal ally—but he had been left with no other choice. 

“Activate the ship’s self-destruct protocol once we’re away,” Lotor commanded, desperately trying to keep his voice from shaking as self-hatred bubbled up his throat, unable to tear his eyes away from Narti’s fallen form. And then, the moment passed; he steeled himself, forcing his emotions down into the depths where no light could shine upon them. Loss was a constant in his life. This was no different. Raising his eyes, his gaze settled on the ships before them. “There is nothing left for us here."

* * *

In hindsight, he really did have it coming. And yet, another part of him was hurt. Acxa had _shot_ him. He groaned, lifting his head. It took a moment for him to realize that he was bound. Well. He supposed that it was to be expected. Nonetheless, the sting of betrayal still stung.

He frowned. His tone was decisively stern. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Zethrid’s voice. “Nothing personal. This is our only way out.”

He stayed quiet after that, in thought. If he were honest with himself, which was a rare happening, he could not blame his generals for their actions. In fact, it was not that different to what he would have done himself, were he in their position. They were survivors, same as him. It was a part of why he had picked them as his generals in the first place. Familiarity. They all came from the same place. Lotor sighed.

“You plan to give me up.” It was not a question. His voice softened, marginally, the change nearly imperceptible. “I understand, Zethrid.”

Now, as for the matter of his bound wrists. Lotor grimaced. “You will do what you must,” he said. Then, raising his arms behind his back, “And I will do what I must.”

The sickening crackle of his bones was as loud in his ears as the sound of his blood pounding through them, but he was unaffected by the pain. It was all just part of the job, after all. He felt nothing as he ejected Zethrid and Acxa, and then, he continued to feel nothing as he pushed on the throttle, the thrusters initiating to full power and blasting the ship forward into the star-streaked abyss.

Only when he was far away and the other craft had faded from his view did he allow himself to slow down. He knew that his generals would be fine. At the end of the day, they were survivors; they would always find a way. He did not feel guilty for abandoning them, as during the many years of his long life he had long since been forced to acknowledge that nothing could last forever. Not people, not empires, and certainly not him, although the latter was debatable.

Then, frowning, his mind moved on to the other issue at hand. It seemed that his father had forsaken him at last. At that, he was not particularly shocked either. In the end, it was only a matter of time. And yet, the child within him was hunched over in grief. Lotor stiffened. He had not been that child for a very, _very_ long time, and he had not vied for his father’s attention for what seemed like longer, as he’d learned from a young age that Zarkon had neither the time nor the want to nurture his son. His father had always seen him as a disgrace; this latest development was nothing out of the ordinary. 

Galra radio chatter filled the silence as the ship drifted aimlessly through open space. Lotor buried himself in his thoughts. He was so _tired_. It wasn’t a new feeling, but the past few quintants had really taken a lot out of him. Admitting that, even to himself, felt startlingly like failure. For the first time in a long while, he allowed the mask to fall. Not completely, because that was reckless and he could never fully let his guard down, but a part of the facade slipped away, revealing the weight of his many years. He supposed that this—whatever this was—had always been coming. Nothing was ever meant to last. The only option was to move on, or be swept away by the sands of time, forgotten. Unmourned.

He sat very still for quite some time, but he was certain in what he needed to do. Lotor closed his eyes, feeling the oncoming headache before it hit him. Flashes—white light, a silver lion— _we can’t just leave him_ —

It was time to meet Voltron. The only issue, however, was that Lotor had no idea where they could possibly be. He had been forced to abandon all of his tracking systems on the capital ship, as the evacuation had been too fast for him to have had the time to copy any of his own intel to a separate disk. Smiling grimly, he supposed that it was better for the information to have been destroyed than for it to have fallen into the empire’s hands.

“Fighter squadron Djalg Fifteen, report in,” came a female voice over the comm. Lotor leaned back in his seat, relatively disinterested. 

“Djalg Fifteen here,” crackled the reply of the answering pilot. “No sign of Lotor. Moving to Zone Rebulon Fifty-five.”

“Negative, Djalg Fifteen,” firmly responded the commanding officer. At that, Lotor sat up, his gaze hardening. “That zone is restricted. I repeat, zones Rebulon Four through Sixty-Nine are off-limits. We expect a massive detonation soon that will wipe out everything in the quadrant. Stay out of the area.”

Well. That was interesting. Considering that he was in none of the aforementioned quadrants, there was only one other logical explanation for a blast and a quarantine of that magnitude. Haggar sought to destroy Voltron. Lotor would not allow that to pass. 

“Copy,” he replied mockingly, his hands tight on the ship’s controls as he input the coordinates for the Rebulon sector.

The time had finally come, just as he’d known it would. There was no more waiting, no more lurking in the shadows. Lotor's eyes narrowed. This was his only chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huge thanks to everyone who's left comments and kudos! y'all are so supportive and it makes my day ten times brighter ngl. 
> 
> next chapter: the long-awaited reunion!


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